Myths of a Time
by Bohemian Storm
Summary: A prologue to 'Myths of the Flood'. The story of Glory's abduction and her first meetings with Snape and Lucius. Reviews greatly appreciated.


Disclaimer: The usual. I don't own the character in the story, it all belong to JK Rowling. I do own Glorificus Beckwith.  
  
  
Myths of a Time  
  
  
She was beautiful and she knew it. Glorificus Beckwith was quite possibly the most beautiful girl that Hogwarts had seen in a very long time and she could always tell when her looks were on the mind of someone nearby. Two weeks after her graduation from Hogwarts she was working as a waitress in The Three Broomsticks and she could sense the lust emanating from most of the men in the pub. They weren't important to her though, they were just plain, regular men.  
  
It was the dark and strangely appealing man at the end of the bar who had held her attention for most of her shift that night. He was older than she was by at least five years, though it was probably more. He wore robes blacker than any others in the entire pub and his black hair hung in his face, hiding him from the world. The one time he had looked up and caught her gaze, he had studied her with the deepest, blackest eyes she had ever seen. He mesmerized her and Glory was suddenly determined to bring him back to her room that night.   
  
She blushed at this thought and Rosmerta shot her a sideways glance as Glory turned away. As beautiful and arrogant as she was, she was not easy. Rumours had been spread during her time at Hogwarts, but none of them held even a thread of truth. They always spread rumours about the pretty ones. Glory prided herself in bring attractive and being the one the boys could never have.   
  
"Who is he, Rosmerta?" she asked the other woman, inclining her head slightly.  
  
Rosmerta followed her gaze and she shook her head instantly. "Stay away from him, my dear. He's bad news."  
  
Glory stared at him. "How do you know? He looks harmless enough."  
  
"No, stay away. I'm telling you that, darling. Just keep out of his reach," Rosmerta murmured.  
  
Glory looked at her friend quickly, then nodded. "Yeah, sure." She knew that Rosmerta's warning had to carry some weight to it, she wouldn't say something about a person unless she knew it was true. With a final glance toward the dark patron, Glory began her circle of the room to check on meals and drinks. She refilled a few glasses of water and returned to the bar for the order of Butterbeer one man had ordered.  
  
"Rosmerta," Glory said loudly, "I need four Butterbeers for table sixteen."  
  
The woman behind the bar nodded and Glory leaned heavily against the scarred wooden bar that ran the length of the room. She tapped her long fingernails against the dark wood, then tossed her blonde hair over one shoulder and sighed heavily. Standing at the bar and waiting for an order was the part she hated most about the night. Though quite full of herself and not past flaunting what she had, Glory hated the unwanted touching that quite often came with her job.  
  
That night though, she didn't feel a familiar hand on her backside, or the dry knuckles of an old man on her arm as his hand crept around her waist. Instead she felt a presence, a horrible presence that made her limbs tingle with anticipation of whatever would befall her in the shadow of the man behind her.   
  
She turned slightly and caught a glimpse of the lank, dark hair framing his face. His robes engulfed him and his dark eyes were a startling contrast to the pale skin of his face. He hadn't touched her, but it felt as if he had and Glory shivered involuntarily, crossing her arms tightly across her chest.  
  
"Rosmerta," she said again, hoping to get the order and get out of his sight.  
  
"Coming!" the answer came a moment later and Rosmerta appeared balancing four Butterbeers on a tray. "There ya go," she said, handing the tray to Glory. She caught sight of the man behind her then and stepped backward suddenly, her hip slamming into the counter behind her.   
  
"Leave her alone," Rosmerta said quietly. "No one believes the rumours about you, but I do." Her eyes narrowed. "I do."  
  
The dark man behind Glory simply stepped out of her way as she turned to take the order to the table. She dropped off the drinks, then returned the tray to the bar and checked the clock. Less than five minutes until her shift was over and by the looks of the pub Rosmerta would be okay for a few minutes until her replacement came in.  
  
"You mind?" Glory asked, nodding toward the door.  
  
Rosmerta waved her hand. "It's a slow night. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."  
  
Glory grinned and reached for her jacket that was hanging behind the bar. As she shrugged into it, she felt two strong hands take the jacket from her and slide it carefully onto her shoulders. She turned, glaring at the man who had helped her.  
  
"I can manage," she said icily and wrapped her blue scarf tightly around her neck.  
  
"You're very beautiful," he said, speaking for the first time that night. His voice was soft, yet somehow it was more threatening than anything she had ever heard.  
  
Glory stared at him for a long moment. "I know," she said finally, then turned and stalked out of the pub. An icy wind hit her as soon as she stepped outside and she wrapped herself more deeply in her scarf and jacket. It was unseasonably cold for late May and Glory was suddenly very thankful for the wool scarf her parents had sent her earlier that year.  
  
She was only three steps away from the door, still thinking about her scarf, when he attacked her. The strong hands from earlier pulled her into the alley beside The Three Broomsticks and in a sudden flash of recognition, Glory knew what rumours Rosmerta had been talking about. The man with his hands on her was a Death Eater.  
  
"Leave me alone," she shrieked, turning in his hands and kicking his shin as hard as she could.  
  
A howl of pain and rage escaped the lips of the man and he shoved her roughly against the wall of the pub, pressing her back against the hard stone. She thrashed against him, but he held her more firmly, studying her face and drinking in her beauty.  
  
"You're perfect," he hissed, then grabbed her long hair and began to drag her down the alley.  
  
Glory twisted in his hands, feeling her hair tear as she did and knowing she would hurt the next morning if she survived the attack at all. He grunted in surprise and grabbed at her to hold her tight against his body, but she struck out with both her fists. One caught the side of his head and he growled deep in his throat. Her other fist slammed against his throat and for a moment she was hopeful that she had knocked the wind out of him.  
  
His hands never weakened their grip, they only tightened and Glory whimpered suddenly in fear and defeat. She was never going to see her parents again, she could be used and then discarded, she would be lucky if her body was ever found. She knew how the Death Eaters worked, she had heard all the rumours and read all the stories about them. They were cruel and heartless and soon enough she was going to be in their clutches.  
  
The man was obviously quite tired of her struggling as he took a moment to slam her head against the stone wall of the alley, causing her vision to swim. Her legs went numb with the impact and she collapsed in his arms, cursing herself for being so stupid. She should had waited until someone could have walked her home.  
  
As he dragged her along, Glory reached with trembling hands for the wand in her jacket pocket. She prayed it hadn't fallen out during the struggle and was rewarded when her hand closed around the thin piece of wood. Ash, eleven inches, flexible and containing the heartstring of a dragon; a Chinese fireball to be exact. Ollivander had snickered when selling it to her, warning her what temperamental creatures the fireballs were known to be. He hadn't realized at the time what a perfect match had been made.  
  
"Crucio," Glory whispered, knowing she would be punished a thousand times over for the curse she had just spoken. She would be sent to Azkaban and the Dementors would rip out her mind, but even that seemed better than spending her days at a Death Eater's slave.  
  
The man dropped to the ground, screaming in agony and Glory went with him. She collapsed on the dirty alley floor, squeezing her hand with all the strength she had left in her body. She tried to stand while he was still suffering, tried to run, but her legs refused to cooperate and her stomach heaved every time she tried to move.  
  
After a few minutes, the Death Eater on the ground began to stir. He staggered slowly to his feet, pressing his hands against the wall to hold him up. He was hurt, that much was obvious, but it didn't stop him from reaching for a broken bottle that lay in a nearby garbage can. It glinted in the faint light and Glory didn't even have enough time to scream as it whistled through the air toward her face.  
  
She felt the impact, felt the blood begin to spill down her face and then felt nothing. She slipped into unconsciousness and she welcomed the blackness that engulfed her.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Glory woke up hours later in one of the available rooms in The Leaky Cauldron. Rosmerta and Rubeus Hagrid had taken her there in fear that Severus Snape would be back to finish the job he had started. Hagrid was standing over her, wringing his large hands nervously when her eyes fluttered open.  
  
"Merlin's Beard!" he exclaimed. "Thank God yer awake. We was worried sick ya weren't gonna ever wake up."  
  
Glory blinked a few times and tried to sit up in her bed. Her head spun painfully and she dropped back down onto the pillow, then put her hands to her face. It was then that she felt the thick gauze that covered the right side of her face.  
  
"What happened?" she murmured.  
  
Hagrid frowned. "He hurt ya real bad, Glor'," he murmured softly. "Hit ya with a bottle and hit ya hard. Yer face was cut up real bad and Rosmerta tried to fix it best she could." He paused and glanced away. "Yer gonna have a scar where he cut ya."  
  
Her eyes dropped closed. "At least I'm alive, Hagrid."  
  
The giant nodded. "Ya sure are. And we won't let him get in here, no way. Snape's not gonna lay a hand on you again."  
  
"That's his name? Snape?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah, that's the git's name."  
  
Glory's mouth was set in a thin line. "I hope he dies," she said darkly. "I hope he suffers for ages and then I hope he dies alone."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
He came back for her two nights later, but this time he came with help. The two men contrasted each other so sharply that Glory thought for a moment that she was dreaming. The man with black hair and black eyes leaned over her and placed his hand over her mouth. She tried to scream, but the blonde man with pale blue eyes already had his wand out.  
  
"Imperio," he murmured in her ear, his lips brushing against her skin.  
  
She wanted to let the shiver of repulsion run down her spine, but she was under his control, his voice was her leader and she followed his commands. Feeling horribly lost, Glory stood and dressed under the eyes of the blonde man, unable to control any of the movements her body made. She hated it, hated the feeling of being under someone else's control.  
  
"Stop leering, Lucius," the dark haired man demanded. "He just wanted your opinion on her."  
  
"She's gorgeous," the blonde man said. "Good pick, Severus."  
  
"She'll have a scar from where I hit her."  
  
"Makes her stand out in a crowd." The blonde man motioned toward the window they had come in. "Let's get her out of here before we get caught."  
  
Glory didn't remember the rest of the that night or the days following it. All she remembered was waking up in a cold room with little more than a sheet on a bare cot. She was trembling from the cold, but a man had come in soon after, the dark haired man. He took her up to a room in another part of the house she was being held captive in.  
  
Glory had sobbed like a baby, suddenly more afraid than she'd ever been before. She thought maybe she was being punished for being so self centered, that the hurt and violation was a punishment because she wasn't a good person.  
  
Whatever the reason, she had vowed that first night that they would never get away with it. She couldn't be the only one they kept captive in that house and she wouldn't escape one day and she'd make them all pay.  
  
Especially the man with the black eyes.  
  
  
End  
  
Notes: This is a prologue, of sorts, to my newest chapter fic 'Myths of the Flood'. This is meant to explain a little bit of what I left out in 'Flood' that I felt couldn't be added in memories.  
It's a look into the mind of a devastated eighteen year old and obviously in the time frame of 'Flood' her views have changed slightly. 


End file.
